


Acta Non Verba (Actions, Not Words)

by Vexfulfolly



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Gen, My first fic, Rick and Morty - Freeform, Selectively Mute Character, different timeline, mute character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 20:17:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12540332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vexfulfolly/pseuds/Vexfulfolly
Summary: In some universes, like c-147, everything falls into line. A Rick comes back to his daughter, who has a family with a Jerry, Summer, and most importantly, a Morty. In other dimensions, like h-563, a Rick comes back to find either a Beth with a Summer and Morty, or a Beth with just a Morty.But in some universes, like s-294, a Rick comes back to nothing.No Beth.No Jerry.No Summer.And a Morty that's just out of reach. In s-294, Morty is adopted at the age of five after a fatal car accident, and his Rick is only now finding out. This unusual turn of events have lead to some… complications— but that's nothing a genius can't solve— right?





	Acta Non Verba (Actions, Not Words)

**Author's Note:**

> FYI: I always imagined Morty as having mild autism, so, in my story he does.

"Harder! Harder! Harder!" The choir of voices curled around his head like a Sunday service, complete with every timbre and trill. "Don't you think he's had enough?" A boy sounded over the rest. Despite the caring words upon his tongue, his tone relinquished any kindness present, for it was laced with disdain and sarcasm. "No!" Cried the crowd, followed by a barrage of insults and jeers. Poor Morty couldn't hold back the tiny whine that scratched at his throat. With his side resting on the concrete and his body curled in on itself, he was pretty well protected— but that didn't stop the blows that came beforehand. It didn't stop the taste of iron on his tongue, it didn't stop the swelling in his cheek, it didn't stop the terror that coiled in his stomach, and it most certainly didn't stop the tremors that travelled up and down his body. 

"Sorry, Morty," Chandler cooed. "I've got to give the people what they want." Even though the child's eyes were crammed shut, tears streaming from the corners, he recognized his assailant's voice. It was the one that had burned itself into his mind and taunted him like a nightmare: Chandler Evans. Before Morty could lose himself in thought, a swift kick to his mid-section procured a wheeze. "Oh, I'm sorry? I didn't hear you. You're going to have to speak up," he was teased.  
Then came another kick. And a groan.  
And a kick. And a whimper.  
And a kick. And a whine.  
And a kick. And a muffled sob.  
Morty was getting louder and his shakes were turning to convulsions. Nothing good ever happened when Morty got loud. Yelling always meant being isolated to 'calm down.' Shouting meant he was out of line. Catching attention meant getting judged. 

Screaming meant that he'd lost control. 

So when the final kick was delivered, Chandler's foot somehow managed to break past Morty's arms and catch him just above the sternum, at the curve of his throat. Before anyone—Chandler, bystander, or Morty— knew what was happening, a soul ripping wail tore through the noise. It was broken and cracking, it's whole duration at least five seconds. The boy's hands were clenched into fists and pressing onto his closed eyes, all the while his mouth hung open and flecks of red danced across his lips. Whenever Morty was too nervous or overstimulated, pressing his eyes gave him a sense of calm. The colors and dots that illuminated his vision reminded him of the stars and cosmos, the way they flickered onward without a care in their world. But the stars couldn't help him now. 

When his screech had ended no sound filled the area around him, save for the mutters that were escaping his pink lips. Twitches attacked his legs and neck, his arms occasionally spasming as he gently rocked back and forth. Morty didn't dare open his eyes. They would all be staring at him. They'd be flashing cameras in his face, or looking repulsed. This wasn't anything new. At least his episode had an upside: they'd finally leave him alone. All that yelling would bring too much attention. Couldn't have that, now could they?

"Freak," Chandler spat.  
"Idiot!"  
"Looser!"  
Each word chimed by the on lookers wasn't surprising, but that didn't mean it hurt any less. Regardless, Morty could hardly hear them— they sounded far away. He was too busy trying to rock himself back into stability. The sound of dozens of feet on gravel was like thunder in his ears, and the scent of betrayal heavy yet acidic to his nose. 

Even as the sound of shoes on pavement dissipated, Morty didn't dare move. He just stayed as he was: crying and curled up on his side. No one was coming for him. His 'parents' weren't going to worry about him not coming home, since they probably weren't home themselves. The students knew that activating him further would most likely kill him, and hell, the teachers didn't care. Nor did any of the onlookers or passerbys— why should they? For now, Morty would lay. When he was ready to move, he would, but until then he wasn't going to change one bit.

**Author's Note:**

> Please!!!! Let!! Me!! Know!! If!! You!! Like!! This!! It's my first fic and I wanted to do something fun/ easy. I think this will be pretty short unless you guys want any specific scenes are scenarios. So!! If you even remotely enjoyed this story PLEASE leave a comment or kudos to let me know. Also feel free to call me out on inconsistencies or having characters too ooc. Thank you!!!


End file.
